WEEK 1 - SUNDAY; RACHEL (night, lounge)

[crushcard]

[ The lounge table that he's picked is in a secluded enough corner that they can speak without being overheard, and it's although it's past ten, they're in no danger of being kicked out of the lounge before closing.

He doesn't exactly drink, more like only if the occasion calls for it, and honestly, with the events over the past weekend and having come into contact with some of the more... colourful characters in the motel, it's no wonder that he has a glass of whisky (Scottish, on the rocks) in his hand, which he sets down - the glass making an audible clink as its set down on the mirrored surface of the table. ]

I hope you didn't mind that I wanted to speak with you privately. [ It's something that has been bothering him throughout most of the day. ] Forgive me for eavesdropping on your conversation with Craftly, but you seemed interested in the Dark Room.

Comments

[crushcard]

[ He's aware of that. But even speculation, backed by whatever scant evidence he's scrounged up, is as good as any.

But even the rational side of him has been drowned out. There's a hollow thundering in his ears as Seto freezes, the colour draining out of his features. He'd started this conversation believing that he had the upper hand, that he could wrangle some sort of information about the Dark Room from Rachel.

He's seeing a side of Rachel Claudius that he has no idea ever existed - something that's way too familiar, something that cuts way too close for comfort.

(Seto Kaiba was still alive for three reasons only - pure, unrelenting spite, defeating his rival, and making sure that Mokuba was taken care of, no matter what the circumstances.)

He understands Rachel. He would die here, and willingly, if he could guarantee Mokuba's happiness.

He laughs, softly, bitterly, as he picks up his drink and knocks back the remainder of the alcohol, ignoring how it burns down his throat. Is this what Craftly means by incentives? Damn bastard. ]

Forgive me for saying so, but you're a fool. [ His hands are still shaking, a crack in his exterior. Rachel just needs to chip at it. ] This is a battle royale till only three survivors are left - the children you would be looking out for will most likely end up dead, regardless.

[ It's not as venomous as it should be. ]

[restlessgods]

[ This is the side of a mother.

There's no hint on her face nor her countenance that she's acting, nor that she's noticed his response. She's composed herself again, that's for sure - but her expression falls back to neutrality, voice remaining the same soft tone as before, as if she was not completely here. ]

Do you allow yourself to give in so early?

[ No accusations, only facts. She, who has nothing to hide, cannot be accused - like trying to grasp at a slippery ball. ]

We have been here scant days. To fall into the trap of rules set by another... does that not seem to hasty to you?

[ She's aware of her convictions. None will sway her, for she must follow the grand order that things must be, no matter the cost. ]

You only lose when you stop fighting.